


Biscuits

by windandthestars



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:32:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Biscuits, John.  I want biscuits."  Sherlock had whined, flicking on the light and throwing back the covers to John's bed, and like a dog told to fetch a stick John had gotten up and gone out without question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biscuits

It's half three in the morning and John's standing underneath a flickering light in a store halfway across town, clutching a pair of plastic packets in his hands. It's the fifth store he's been to, the second one since he had realized that the shirt he had thrown on while half asleep and grumbling was not only inside out, but backwards.

"Biscuits, John. I want biscuits." Sherlock had whined, flicking on the light and throwing back the covers to John's bed, and like a dog told to fetch a stick John had gotten up and gone out without question.

It wasn't often that John thought to wonder about this particular part of his relationship with Sherlock- the changeable man that he was- but John found himself wondering now when it was that he had signed up for this. He was no stranger to late nights, but even in the early days before the war, 3 am had seen him to his bed, or to one of the student labs at Barts, not standing staring blankly down an aisle littered with cheery packaging. Perhaps he was suffering memory loss after being struck on the head one too many times, or perhaps his assent had been assured when he had signed the lease on 221B or earlier yet when he walked into the lab to met Sherlock for the first time.

Whatever the case, a late night trip to pick up biscuits was far from the most unusual request Sherlock had made. In fact, there have been so many of these odd requests John is hard pressed to remember them all, let alone pick one. Sherlock, John was sure, found a perverse joy in his compliance with these tasks. They hardly ever involved Sherlock's work as a consulting detective- although there were the spontaneous texts containing only an address and a time, directions if a rush hour commute was involved- and never were they conveniently timed. A trip to the shop in the middle of the night, a request for fish and chips during an unseasonably harsh rain storm, a demand for several large boxes votive candles after John had pulled a double at the clinic.

None of the requested items, when presented, seemed to please Sherlock, often by the time John returned Sherlock had lost interest entirely and stared at John blankly looking mildly confused as if he hadn't been the catalyst for the entire harrowing tale. The events of which left John cranky and disgruntled most of the time.

Just like the times before Sherlock had no need for biscuits, the man hardly ate outside his proscribed twelve hour window, but John had wandered from bed all the same, with little protest to find himself here, watching speckled floor tiles blur and shift before his tired eyes. 

He would return home shortly- the cab he intended to take charged to Sherlock's card, drop the bags of biscuits on the counter, and return to bed to find Sherlock already there, curled around one of John's pillows occupying the space he had left warm over an hour ago. He may not have signed up for this, but John wasn't about to complain, not while he curled himself around long lanky limbs and breathed deeply, quietly into the back of a dark head of hair.

**Author's Note:**

> for kink_bingo: consent play


End file.
